starpollen Posted January 9, 2017 Share Posted January 9, 2017 (edited) So, I just started this series, and I am already HOOKED. Decided to write some fanfiction about Lucas, being as true to the episodes as I can and also filling in some gaps. Dorothy comes from another land, bringing with her all kinds of foreign germs... and Lucas not having any immunity... That being said, there's no sneezing in this part. But definitely fever and angst. Indulging myself and seeing if anybody else appreciates it... Sorry for the spacing format - some glitch with Google Docs that I don't have time to fix right now (but might come back to fix later). Anyway... here goes!... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. Heat. Pain. That's all he’d felt for… wizard knew how long. Sometimes the same carnal questions would try to prod the boundaries of his consciousness. Who…? ...I’m…? Where…? But the barbed wire biting into his arms and the burning inferno that was his left side just under his ribs soon turned all questions to dust in his mouth. Thirst. That was another constant. What he wouldn't give for a long gulp of cool, clean water… Water… At times, it was all he could think about. Beyond the pain, beyond the fever… So… thirsty... Somewhere deep down he knew that he was sick. A high fever.. Wounds infected, left to fester for far too long. Knew that he was likely dying. But he didn't care. Couldn't care. All he wanted was to lay down somewhere soft to sleep. After drinking his fill. Water.. Wizard, his throat ached to even think about it… Then, he could die. Part of him welcomed it. Somewhere deep in the depths of his subconscious he knew he deserved this. Knew he had done something unforgivable. But… at the same time, between the heat and the pain and thirst… he also knew... He didn't deserve to die. He had stopped sweating. The blood and straw had dried and clung to him like a second skin, with no more moisture to wick it away. And part of him knew that this was bad. Very bad. Then, a noise… somewhere… close by… something broke through the foggy haze. “...help me…” He didn’t know why he spoke. Why he even tried. But something reached up from deep down inside him, refusing to die. Dimly he felt the sense of falling, one minute hanging as he had been for far, far too long… then flat on his back, dizzy at the sudden change of orientation and also sick with the sudden rush of blood to areas too long without. “...you okay?...” the voice asked. A low voice. Soothing. Rhythmic. With a light accent he couldn't place. “…I can’t feel my arms…” His tongue felt thick and sluggish, not unlike his brain which seemed to chase thoughts like wild birds that flitted to and fro in the cage of his skull, making him more exhausted than he had ever thought possible. The cool hands pulled the barbed wire away,helping to fold his numb arms across his stomach. Then they were touching his burning side, and somehow tried to warn him of their… her?... intentions. “... You have a deep wound here…” Then, intense and painful pressure. He couldn't help but cry out. He found himself being pulled upright. He gasped for breath as pain seared every inch of his body. Someone was speaking. Words. His mind reached for them, but they slipped away like sand through his fingers. The same questions that had poked and prodded at him as he had hung helpless and fevered. “...What happened to you?...” “I… I don’t know… I don’t remember…” The only answer he was sure of. Chills suddenly set in, and he had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering. “... What about your name?... What’s your name?...” He didn’t know. It scared him. “I’m just gonna check your head. I’m… a healer…” His eyes caught sight of the burned out ruins on the hill, and suddenly he didn’t feel those cool hands on his burned skin. Suddenly grief sliced through him like a blade. Something… somehow this was his fault… All he could mumble was… “I think you’re too late.” Breathe. In. Out. Just try to breathe... Cool fingers touched his burning skin, and it was all he could do not to moan at the all-too-brief sensation of unexpected relief. Somehow the blood and straw was washed off, and some clothes found nearby were pulled onto his aching body. And… the sword. Something in him flinched when he saw it. And he didn’t know why. “This is probably yours. It was at your feet. I’m gonna put it away, okay?” Sure. Okay. He didn’t know what else to do but grunt. And try to remain upright, try not to show weakness. “It’s getting dark. We should try and find some food.” “Am I coming with you?...” “I don’t know… are you?” A smile he didn’t know how to interpret. It seemed he was. As awful as he felt... what else was he going to do? 2. He couldn’t believe that he needed her to hold the apple while he took a bite. And - even more humiliating - he asked her to wipe the juice from his mouth. His arms had begun to tingle all the way to his fingers - painfully so - but he didn’t think he could grip anything. As hungry as he was, as much as he wished he could... “Could you… um…” Her cool fingers brushed his bottom lip. He tried not to close his eyes. He didn’t remember anything about his life. But something deep inside knew that this was a new low. At the same time, he knew he needed food. Needed anything. His voice came low, rough, and gravelly - even to his own ears. “I wish I could say I’m not usually this useless but… um… maybe I am…” He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. And trying was giving him a beast of a headache. “You don’t look useless.” Her dark eyes speared him with trust. With faith. In a way, it stabbed him even harder. I don’t deserve her trust. He had no idea where that came from. But it felt… true. “How do I look?...” He blinked, trying to get some sort of footing. “... actually don’t know what I look like…” “You’re very…” “Very..?” She took another bite of the apple, seeming to try to avoid his question. “We should name you. Even the dog has a name.” He blinked, not knowing what to say. “Uh, well, whatever you want to call me.” He wished desperately that he could remember his name. “No. No, that’s too much responsibility.” He could tell that she was uncomfortable, and was upset that he knew he was the cause of her discomfort. “No, it’s not.” He tried to make it easier for her. “Yes, it is. A name has permanence.” “Well, all the more reason.” As much as he didn’t want to pressure her… she could give him permanence. Ground him. Keep him from flying to pieces. He felt this instinctively - and part of him needed it. Desperately. “Well, I try to avoid responsibility. And permanence.” “Well, what’s the first name that comes to your mind…” “I’m not doing this.” “...the first name…” “...no…’ “...comes to your mind, right now go…” “...Lucas…” “Lucas.” “...is it terrible?...” she laughed in a small way. “Why Lucas?” “It’s the town where I grew up.” Her smile was shy. “Huh. So, Lucas is home?” “Uh-huh.” In that moment - looking into her dark, warm gaze - all he wanted was to be what she felt was warm and safe and home. To be her shelter. Her strength. As she had been for him. “All right. Well… Lucas it is.” They made camp there. It was as good as anywhere, he supposed. Sleep. When he had been hanging, it never really came. Not truly. He would lightly doze in fits and snatches, mostly because his body shut down on him out of raw necessity. But it was never true, deep, restful sleep. The first night with the voice - her - he truly slept for the first time in days. Not just because his body craved it… was so desperate for it that he couldn't have taken another step if he tried… but also because she was there. 3. The dream came again. Blood, and screams. And… He gasped awake. Wizard, he felt like crap. Everything hurt, especially his side. But he had to get up. He looked around. Dog. Ruins. Right. “...Dorothy?...” Where was she? “...Dorothy?...” He saw her a few yards away, stumbling, completely incoherent. “Hey, you’re hurt…” As soon as he crossed some strange line next to her, he stumbled and fell. Mud. Darkness. And every inch of his body in unbelievable, excruciating pain. “Prison… prison… abject…” He barely heard what was happening. All he could feel was razor blades of pain slicing through him. He could barely breathe. “...witch… merciful… stern… Glinda’s girls… sister… secrets…” … Dorothy… what was happening… was she…?... Suddenly, a sharp noise like the crack of a tree breaking in a storm. But there was no storm. And then, mercifully, he could breathe. He rolled over, coughing, instinctively reaching for her… Dorothy… his half-numb hand feeling the quick pulse of her ribs as she gasped for breath. Her hand gripped his, silk and iron and so much comfort. 4. “Where does the road lead?” “To Emerald City. To the Wizard of Oz.” “And he can help you?” “Oh yeah. He can move mountains.” Why didn’t she sound convinced? “And he can probably take me home.” “Maybe he can fix my head.” He tried to smile. Every muscle still hurt, and he felt a little dizzy. But he didn’t want to worry her. He’d been feeling tired and lethargic all day, wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep. Still, he put one foot in front of the other, determined to keep up with the pace she set. She wanted to go home. And - if he had anything to say about it - she would. 5. Breath. Step. Breath. Step. “... so… I say, ‘Who’s there?’... even though I know it’s you?...” He could barely string one coherent thought together. Wizard, he hurt so bad… but he wouldn’t let her see… “Right.” He tried to keep it together. “Why?...” “Let’s just try it again. Knock, knock…” She wanted him to talk. So he tried, stumbling, pressing an arm to his burning side, breathing in bursting, desperate pants. “... knock knock…” He could barely breathe, let alone think. “Why are you knocking?...” he didn’t even know what he was saying at this point. She wanted to talk to him, wanted him to talk back. But he couldn't seem to get anything to make sense, couldn't seem to understand what her voice seemed to imply was pretty simplistic. His body burned, his throat ached, his muscles felt weak and dried out. He kept blinking, kept taking in great gulps of air to fuel each painful, stumbling step. And tried to answer her when she talked. “What about… baseball? Have you heard of baseball?” Wizard… all he wanted was to lay down and sleep for days… drink and drink glass after glass of water and then sleep and sleep until he wasn’t thirsty or so, so tired… But he’d be damned before he’d show any weakness. This person - this savior - deserved his best. Somewhere deep down, he knew she did. So he would give it. No matter how wretched he felt. “...I might have. Who’s to say?...” The world spun around him as he gasped and swallowed repeatedly, desperately trying not to be sick. They stopped. She turned to him, trusting him to know what she didn’t. “Do you remember anything from here?... Anything you... recognize or makes you feel something?” “Yeah…” He stared at her. “What?...” “You.” An honest answer. One of the few had ever given in his life. “How long have you been saving that? “A few miles.” She laughed. She made him feel… so much. Everything. Anything he had ever been or would ever be, anything he could hope to live up to… was there in her dark, luminous, searching gaze. But he knew he couldn’t say that. That wasn’t what she was asking. Reaching a hand into his coat, his shaking fingers came away bloody. He knew he was doomed. Only a few more miles until he collapsed, infection and fever consuming his body. 6. He was struggling; he knew that. Every movement blazed fire through the left side of his body, every breath was torture. But she kept striding forward, doggedly. He refused to hold her back. Even though he knew he lagged behind. He couldn’t help it. Numb hands grasped for each subsequent protruding rock, seeking support for his battered, aching body. “Do you want me to slow down?” “You must really want to get home,” he gasped, breathless with pain, determined not to let it show. “Yeah, I have people waiting for me.” “What kind of people?” “...People...” “Ah, someone you laid with.” Maybe this would make her stop so he could rest, could breathe. “What? ‘Laid with?’” “You know, someone who…” Gasp - every breath seared fire into his side - all he needed was a few minutes to breathe, to catch breath that never seemed to come… The blood from his side was flowing freely now. He could feel it warming the top of his thigh. But he couldn’t let her know. She would think it was her fault, and it wasn’t. It was that witch - the writhing and twitching of her spells… the movement she made him do had opened the stitches and scabs, and Dorothy didn’t need to know… “I know what you mean.” “So?...” “I”m not having this conversation with you, Lucas.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t know you.” “Well, you saved me, so how does that work?” “No, I’m a nurse. That’s what I do.” “What?” “A healer.” And then, he fell. Pain. Heat. All over again. He just tried to keep breathing. “We’re going to get you help.” He had known healers in his life. The life he couldn't remember. But somehow he did remember that he had known fakes, and freaks, and cons. She wasn't any of those things. When the cool hands - her hands - so strong and so gentle… when those hands helped him lay down that first night and smoothed sweat-soaked hair back from his sun-burnt face… when they gently supported the back of his head so he could drink his fill… when they firmly pressed his wrist to count his heartbeats and expertly lifted the makeshift bandage over his wound to check for infection… ...which, based on the burning fire in his side and the nauseatingly disorienting swirl behind his eyes, he already knew he had… When that voice told him with absolute confidence that he was “going to be fine…” He believed it. Without question. What other choice did he have?... Edited March 27, 2017 by starpollen Link to comment
Rook Posted January 9, 2017 Share Posted January 9, 2017 OH MY GOD THANK YOU FOR THIS AWESOME PEICE OF WORK AHHHH LUCAS MY BEAUTIFUL SON Link to comment
rockbell Posted March 9, 2017 Share Posted March 9, 2017 (edited) ummm just found this and OH MY WIZARD I WANT MORE!!!! IS THAT TOO GREEDY OF ME?? I JUST FINISHED ALL OF EMERALD CITY AND LUCAS AND DOROTHY AND GAHHHH TOOO MANY FEELS!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS WONDERFUL PIECE OF HEAVEN, PLEASE CONTINUE???? Edited March 9, 2017 by rockbell Link to comment
starpollen Posted March 24, 2017 Author Share Posted March 24, 2017 (edited) The series has kind of branched off in ways I didn't expect (and wasn't as pleased with as the first couple of episodes... oh well...) but... I'm taking artistic license with the next few parts. No guarantees I'll "finish" this, but working organically we'll see what develops... And my apologies for the formatting. I'm not sure why it's all wonky... Warning for "sickness"... 7. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. But her voice kept him going. “...You’re just a little septic… But I’ve already stopped the bleeding, so you’re fine.. All you need is a shot of penicillin… It’s most common drug in the world…” That voice. Those cool hands. There was strength in them, and confidence. Something inside of him desperately needed that - needed someone who knew what to do, what was right, who was sure of both things… Because deep to the depths of his black soul, he didn't know what was right, anymore… couldn't be sure of anything... Not anymore. The one thing he knew was that he would never be all right. Even if his wounds didn't kill him, even if he never saw another bale of straw again… somehow he knew… Nothing would ever, ever be ‘all right” again… “...healer… help you…” She had gotten him inside somewhere, somehow. He heard another woman's voice, one that didn't sound welcoming or friendly. But he couldn't keep his eyes open, not after Dorothy lowered him onto something soft and warm. Finally... It wasn't until when he was almost asleep - desperately reaching for the cool, dark embrace of oblivion - that he felt it. A twinge. Deep in the recesses of his sinuses. “...hh…” He had sneezed before, rarely, over the course of his life. Nothing to ever take notice of. But now he was wounded. Burning with fever. Shivering. So desperate for that sleep he’d almost wept with relief when he’d finally laid his aching body down. Those cool, sure hands had tucked something warm around him, had pressed against his sweat-soaked brow, his blistered neck. Had cooed and coaxed him to drink as much cold, sweet water as he could consciously take. The aching burn in his throat momentarily quenched, he attempted to surrender to much-needed, healing sleep. Wizard… It had been so long… But, once he got horizontal, various parts of his body suddenly screamed in unbearable pain. WIZARD’S MOTHER!... why did everything hurt so damned much!?... He heard a soft whimper, and cringed when he realized the sound had come from him. But his body ruled him now. Fever, shivering, pain, heat, thirst… Those cool hands descended on him, pressing under his corded neck to measure his racing heartbeat, settled capably on his fever-furrowed brow, short nails carding lightly through his matted hair. “...shhh… it’s okay… you’re gonna be okay…” He had no idea what her idea of okay was… but a part of him was desperate to believe her when she said he would be. He tried to get his muscles to stop cramping, tried to slow his stammering breaths and pounding heart. But now… more than anything else... He needed to sneeze. “...h’kxgtsh-u!” He tried to stifle it, knowing a sneeze of any variety would rip through his battered body with the force of a tornado. And he was right. A long, low, anguished moan followed. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Wizard, he was so weak... “Bless you…” That strong, soft voice. Cool fingers against his hot cheek, pressing into the burning vein in his neck. He sniffled reflexively, feeling something drain from his sinuses down to coat the back of his dry throat, and subsequently coughed lightly to dislodge it. “...drink…” He felt a strong hand on the back of his head, lifting it to combat his lack of strength. Something cool and hard pressed against his dry, chapped lips, and he reflexively opened them to swallow, trusting that voice - her voice - to bring him relief. It was cool water, but tinged with the tang of bitter herbs. He almost gagged at the taste, but forced himself to swallow. Because she had asked him to. And he trusted her. A second cup followed the first, but this one tasted slightly different - a burning at the tip of his tongue that the first cup hadn't had. The burning seared down through his chest, settling in his stomach and setting it to roiling. God he felt sick. Sicker than he had since she’d cut him down. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Within minutes, he felt liquid bubbling up his throat, and he started to choke. I CAN’T BREATHE!... His body bucked, spine coming off the bed in a helpless bow, hands fisting the sweat-soaked sheets. The voice came, quavering but still relentlessly sure-- “...poisoned...charcoal...drink...DRINK!...” He did, gasping and choking, but he managed to swallow what she asked him to. It was the most foul thing he’d ever tasted in his life, gritty and bitter. But he sucked it down through lips that shook so badly he wasn’t sure any of it was going to make it into his mouth. But it did. And after… Ohh, after… He threw up. Violently. His stomach clenched and stabbed with pain, not just from his wound. A bucket appeared in his lap and he gripped it with all his strength as the savage spasms racked his shivering frame. “... this is good… you’re going to be okay now…” She had one arm around his shoulders, the other braced across his chest. He knew if she hadn’t been holding him upright, he would have collapsed. If this was her definition of ‘okay now,’ he had serious doubts about the kind of world she was so desperate to get back to… Finally the vicious spasms stopped, and he panted and wheezed and gasped and shuddered. The foul bucket was removed. Strong hands supported him, cleaned him up with tender efficiency. A cool cloth wiped the sweat and fluids from his face. A cup with cold, clean water touched his lips and he drank greedily. “Slow down… easy…” He didn’t want to, but she pulled the cup away for a few seconds. “Small sips.” He did as she commanded, nearly moaning in relief when the liquid soothed his ravaged throat. “...more…” he croaked when the cup was empty. “Here.” It took nearly all his effort to sip slowly, but he made himself savor every mouthful, feeling the drops of lifegiving water seep into every parched cell in his body. After the second cup was gone, a wave of weakness washed through him. He would have fallen if she hadn’t been sitting in front of him, catching his slumping shoulders as he pitched helplessly forward. “Whoa...” His heavy head came to rest on her shoulder with a thunk. “Easy. I’ve got you…” Small hands rubbed his back, and he drew in a long, shaking breath. … feels good… “I’m glad.” Had he spoken out loud?... he must have. “Yes, you did,” she huffed a short laugh, low and soft. “...damn... “ his voice was a broken rasp. “Lucas, we can’t stay here. She tried to poison you.” Poison… that would explain it. Gods, he felt utterly wretched… but Dorothy was still talking... “... get up…” Up?... He could barely sit upright and she wanted him to stand?... “... got to get out of here…” Somehow they got out, back outside where a chill breeze was blowing. It was all a blur. He was still shaking, weak, exhausted, in pain, and burning with fever. Dimly he heard Dorothy calling someone's name... Tip?... but he couldn't focus on more than holding himself upright. They started walking again. And he started coughing... and sneezing... "h--p'TSChh'u!..." “I think you have a cold.” “A… cold?...” he rasped, feeling sweat trickle down his back as they walked - well, him half-stumbling - down the yellow brick road to Wizard-knows where. He felt hot, not cold. “It’s a sickness. Where I’m from, it’s very common. Not life-threatening. We just need to find a place to camp so you can rest for a few days. It’s a virus, so there’s no cure. We just have to manage the symptoms, and it will go away on its own.” Virus. Somehow that sounded much more sinister than she described. “Oh-hh… ‘kay… Hheh?... Hiz'ZSCHtt!-ahh…” “Bless you.” “You s-... said that before... What does it... does it mean?” Wizard, he couldn't even get a sentence out with one breath... “That’s… that’s just what you say. When someone sneezes.” “Oh.” Stumbling, shivering, sweating, coughing, sore-throat, aching… he would give anything to be able to lie down. Lucas had never gone from feeling so middling to feeling so poor so fast in all his life (at least, he thought…) When they had arrived at the witch’s cottage, his side had burned and he’d been half out of his head with fever. His side felt better, but now his head, his throat, and his back all hurt with the same stabbing sharpness. Everything was blurred, and the world spun no matter how much he tried to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. Dorothy could tell. “It’s okay… you’re okay… having a cold isn’t any fun, but you’ll be better in a few days…” Gods he felt like he was going to die. I don’t want to die alone… After what felt like hours... - days… - he was gently lowered to the ground. Much to his dismay, he couldn’t stop the low groan of relief that was wrenched from him as his tight and aching muscles were finally allowed to relax. Immediately he coughed, feeling the pull of abused muscles down his injured side. “Easy. You’re okay.” She kept saying that. Wizard, he felt anything but okay. “Heh!-KGk’tsch-u!...” “Bless you.” “... feel terrible...” Such confidence in her voice, he couldn’t help but believe. “You’ll be better soon.” Edited March 27, 2017 by starpollen Link to comment
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